


Spontaneity: a Michael and Daniel FlashFic

by ObsessedtwibrarianOTB



Category: Original Work
Genre: Flash Fic, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 20:17:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10368582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsessedtwibrarianOTB/pseuds/ObsessedtwibrarianOTB
Summary: On a whim, Daniel buys a lottery ticket and decides to spend his winnings on a gift for Michael.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a future-take written off the prompt: "Last night I won fifty dollars."

**Author's Note: This story features my original characters Daniel Hart and Michael Golland from my story[SILENT SCREAM. ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8157827)**

 

**Spontaneity**

 

Daniel strode into my library, all smiles and energy. He slid a backpack off his shoulder and dropped into a chair.  “Guess what?” 

 _Daniel and his guessing games._ I’d learned from experience it was useless to profess ignorance and just give up. It was his idea of fun to watch me guess and be embarrassingly wrong every single time.  I stifled a sigh and closed my book, leaving a finger inside it to mark my place.  Hopefully this wouldn’t take too long. 

First guess. “You got promoted to head of personnel.” 

Daniel snorted. “You know I’m not qualified.”  Mischievous grin.  “No stick up my ass.” 

I gifted him with a Ha-Ha-That’s-So-Funny sneer.  Second guess. “You bought another pair of those tacky Converse, which shot Nike’s P/E Ratio through the roof, causing the bulls to stampede.” 

His beautiful coffee-brown eyes went blank. “What??” 

“Wall Street. Bulls means I should buy,” I said, chuckling. 

“You and that stupid stock market,” he muttered. “And yes, I bought a pair of Converse the other day—they have Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer hand-painted on them—but no, that’s not it. Guess again.” 

 _Good God._ Christmas was going to be especially kitschy this year.  Third guess. “You woke up straight with your dick in a pussy.”  I laughed as his face took on a nauseating shade of green.

“Fuck you, asshole.” 

His crude suggestion had some merit. I’d spent many an idle moment imagining just that very thing. I preferred the top, but was willing to take one for the team just to see what it was like.  Too bad we were still just platonic friends. 

“How long are we going to do this?” I glanced down at my book and back. “I was just getting to the good part.” 

He sighed, obviously disappointed I’d ruined his fun. “Fine. Last night I won fifty dollars.” 

“How?” 

He smiled smugly. “Bought a scratch-off just for the hell of it.” 

 _Jesus._ I’d almost prefer he’d woken up straight with his dick in a pussy. His shame would have been considerably less.  I was dismayed at how far Daniel had sunk. He might as well pin a scarlet L on his chest for ‘LOSER’. 

“Only serfs buy lottery tickets, Daniel.” 

He raised his eyebrows, held up his arm, looked down at it and smirked. “I don’t see no blue skin.” 

It was my turn to go blank.  “What??” 

“I’m not a Smurf,” he said. 

“What the hell’s a smurf?” 

His mouth dropped open. “You really don’t know what a Smurf is??” 

“No,” I said.  “And this conversation is pointless.” 

He shook his head, chuckling softly. “Dude, you need to buy a television. You’re seriously deprived if you haven’t watched the Smurfs.” 

Oh. So this was a TV show, an _inane_ TV show by the sound of it. “I’m not a ‘dude’, and I said _serf_ not smurf.  Serfs are—“ 

“I know what a serf is,” he interrupted. “I went to college.” 

I knew I was wasting my breath but, fuck it, I’d try again. “If you want to gamble, don’t mess with lottery tickets. The odds are against you.  Play the stock market. With half a brain you can make a ton of money, and the odds are more in your favor as long as you do your research.” 

He sighed. “You’re missing the point, Michael.” 

Not surprising. I always seemed to miss the point where Daniel was concerned.  I executed a literal eye roll this time. “What _is_ the point, then?”   

“Spontaneity,” he answered. 

 _Ah, yes._ A personality trait that Daniel possessed in spades, but which no one in their right mind would ever use to describe _me._ I definitely had a stodgy gene, which flustered Daniel to no end. 

“On a whim, I stopped at this crappy little gas station and bought a lottery ticket, then won fifty dollars.”  He grinned. “The amount of money doesn’t matter. What matters is I did something completely random and it was fun. You should try it sometime.” 

“I’ve done something random before,” I said defensively. “I bought some Fannie Mae stock on a drunken whim once. It was the worst financial decision I’ve ever made.” 

Daniel sighed and shook his head. “That’s not the same thing.” 

I knew it wasn’t, but teasing him was a life-affirming source of entertainment for me. “So, you invested that fifty dollars in your 401k, right?” 

“Jesus, Michael,” he said, obviously frustrated, but still sporting a crooked half-smile. “Is money all you think about??” 

“No,” I said, defensive again. “Well. . . yes, but sometimes no.” 

What Daniel didn’t know was my thoughts often wandered off the pages of my stock reports and landed right in the middle of a scene featuring him bound, gagged, and on his knees at my feet, his gaze directed at the floor in supplication. I suppressed a sexually frustrated sigh. Money was so easy and Daniel was so complicated. 

“So, if you didn’t invest it—and I’m assuming you didn’t—then what did you do with it?”  Not that I cared all that much, but it was obvious Daniel was dying to tell me. My strategy in asking first was to try and avoid yet _another_ guessing game over what he’d spent it on. 

He bit his lip, looking a little hesitant. Frowning, I caught his gaze; he seemed unsure of himself, which was highly unusual for him. My instincts told me this conversation was about to take an interesting turn. 

“Well,” he said, hesitating some more. “Actually. . .I bought _you_ something with it.”  

“Me?” 

I raised an eyebrow while he dug around in the backpack. It wasn’t my birthday, or any other stupid holiday. Finally, he pulled out two softcover books and offered them to me. My mouth dropped open when I read the covers: _Teach Yourself Violin_ and _Teach Yourself Piano._  

“When you told me you took lessons as a kid, you sounded really disappointed that your father pulled you out of them,” he said softly. “I thought maybe you could give it another go.” 

Stunned, I searched my vast repertoire of condescending jibes for a biting response. I had nothing.  For the first time in a very long time, my sarcastic wit had completely abandoned me.  

“Michael?”  When I didn’t answer, he continued, “If you don’t like them, I can return them. I still have the receipt. I just thought. . .”  He sighed, looked down at his feet, then returned his hesitant gaze to mine. 

Seeing Daniel so unsure of himself was a completely new experience for me. He was always so confident. He willingly put himself out there for public scrutiny and derision every day, all without the least bit of fear. I admired that. But this hesitant version of Daniel intrigued me and made me wish we were more than just friends. That hesitation could be transformed into some pretty exquisite obedience, with the right dominant. _Yum._ I forced that enticing thought out of my mind; now wasn’t the time for fantasizing.  

“I appreciate the gesture, Daniel, and I know you meant well, but—“ I chuckled. “—I can’t teach myself how to play either one of those instruments.” 

In an instant, his hesitation was gone. The bull-headed Daniel I knew so well resurfaced in all his stubborn glory—the confident Daniel who I suspected would never, _ever_ agree to be tied up and spanked. 

“Of course you can!” he insisted, glaring. “You’re smart and driven when you want to be, so I don’t want to hear any of that defeatist bullshit from you. Michael Golland can do anything he wants to do.” 

Daniel glared and I stared back at him, dumbfounded. I appreciated his confidence in me, but it was greatly unsubstantiated. Underneath all my arrogant swagger and condescension, I was a sniveling coward who was terrified of failing. 

“But…I don’t even own a violin or a piano.” 

Daniel shot him a glaring DUH look. “Crack open your preschool piggy bank, dude.” 

Money wasn’t the issue, of course. And, of course, Daniel was already one psychological step ahead of me. He always was. One of the drawbacks of having a best friend who moonlighted as a head shrinker. 

“If it turns out you can’t play worth shit and you have zero talent—“ He shrugged. “—then, okay.  But, at least you gave it a go. If you don’t even try, you’re always going to wonder.” 

He was right, of course. Sometimes, when boredom overtook me, I found myself mired in unproductive thoughts of what might have been, even though I knew it was a stupid waste of my time. _What have I got to lose?_

“Okay.” I nodded, hoping I looked more confident than I felt. “I’ll order a piano and we’ll see what happens. Thank you.” 

He smiled. “You’re welcome. And if you fail, Michael. . .I’ll still be here.” 

For the first time in my life, someone supported me. Someone believed in me. It was an odd feeling—and I wasn’t sure I deserved it—but I welcomed it.  

 


End file.
